


Shattered

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Damaged Biocomponents (Detroit: Become Human), Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Muteness, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Self-Mutilation, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump, Work In Progress, cis connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: When Hank is called to the murder scene of local red ice dealer Todd Williams, he finds an abused android named Connor locked in a back room closet. Disfigured, damaged, and mute from physical and sexual abuse by its former owner, Hank knows the android will be deactivated and placed in storage as evidence, or worse, scrapped once the case is over.There's a void in Hank's life, a hole inside him that can only be filled by caring for someone. He figures it can't do any harm to take this android home and try to coax it out of its shell. Perhaps it will be able to tell him something about who murdered Todd and help him crack the case - or at least that's what Hank tells himself...
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 41
Kudos: 388





	1. Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Connor has been physically and sexually abused, tortured, and pretty much broken.
> 
> Notes: This is an AU where Connor was Todd's android, who was abused, beaten, and raped on a regular basis. This is the story of how Lieutenant Hank Anderson brings Connor back from the brink of madness. Lots of hurt, but tons of comfort. Reader discretion advised.
> 
> This is a cis Connor fic. I can't bring myself to torment trans Connor this much!

Hank stepped over the threshold into the filthy house. The stench of death slapped him across the face and he held his breath to keep from gagging. A gunshot victim was slumped against the wall, and the wallpaper was riddled with bullet holes from an automatic weapon. The couch was a ruined mess of stuffing and springs, and there was nothing in the room that had evaded damage, even the oversized stuffed toy bear that sat in one corner. Cole had owned one just like it, and the thought stung worse than the sight of the dead body. He was used to adults treating one another with cruelty, but the blatant unfairness of Cole being ripped from his life before his time still made him seethe. He would have traded a thousand lives for Cole's, and he knew that made him a bad person and a worse cop.

"The victim's name is Todd Williams," Ben explained. "He was a known red ice dealer. We think this shooting is the result of a deal gone wrong."

Hank nodded. He wished he could bring himself to give a fuck, but nothing about the victim's demeanor made him feel pity. This grown man had known what he was doing when he peddled red ice. He'd likely ruined many lives in the process, and the world was better off without him.

Hank walked through the sea of CSI androids and police officers tending to the scene. Photographic flashes lit up the dark house, and Hank needed a break from it, all of a sudden. A staircase leading to the second floor beckoned him, and he followed it upstairs. A filthy bathroom greeted him, the dead man's shit not even flushed. There was a bedroom on the left. It was a mess, but in slightly better condition than most of the downstairs. Records lay on the floor, and the television was still blaring in the background. Pills lay scattered on the bedside table, the disorderly chaos typical of a dealer who'd fallen into the thrall of his own poison.

Hank thought he heard a noise coming from the back room. He padded through the hallway to the closed door and tried the handle, finding it locked. With a shrug, he backed up and slammed his entire frame against the door. It flew open and Hank sprawled onto the floor, unable to control his momentum. He picked himself up and looked around him. The room was dark, and it smelled like metal and a distinctive chemical he recognized but couldn't name. He reached for the lightswitch and flipped it on.

A severed head hanging from the ceiling startled him, and he bit his lip to stifle a scream. The wires protruding from the base made Hank breathe a sigh of relief. It was an android head, skinless and eyeless, hanging like a decapitated porcelain doll. The room was a grim sight, with various restraint devices and chains littering the floor. Todd had been into some kinky shit with androids, apparently. Not that it was any of Hank's business. It was creepy as fuck, but it was legal.

The sound of muffled crying emanated from a closet in the back of the room. Hank drew his service pistol, wondering what he might find behind the door. It was deadbolted on the outside, and Hank slid the bolts back, turning the knob with his heart in his mouth. He took a deep breath and opened the door wide, shining his flashlight inside while he pointed his pistol into the gloom.

A beautiful young man scrambled back into the corner, pulling his knees up to his face. He was naked, his doe-like brown eyes wide and frightened as he rocked back and forth. Hank shoved his pistol back into its holster, realizing this boy was a victim, not a perpetrator.

"Hey. I'm not gonna hurt you." Hank got down on one knee, reaching his hand into the closet. "Todd's dead. You're safe, now."

The man squeaked and trembled, not seemingly comforted by the announcement that Todd was gone. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps? Hank shone his flashlight to the man's temple, and saw an LED circling red.

Oh. Disappointment and relief curdled inside his gut. The 'man' was just a fucking android. Of course it was. Todd would have been caught by now if he'd been keeping a human being in his closet. Well, maybe he could ask it a few questions, at least. This android might know a bit about who'd shot Todd and why. It could be an essential witness later on down the line.

"I just wanna ask you a few questions," Hank offered.

The man remained silent, continuing to rock back and forth. Now that Hank took a better look, he could see visible damage to the skin layer. Plastic showed through, and there were dents in some areas of his body. Part of its face was melted, perhaps with acid or some other agent, and one eye seemed to protrude out from its face, locked in a fixed stare,—sightless, for sure. It was like looking at a beautiful trainwreck, the handsome and the horrific merged into one, and Hank was glad for a moment that Todd was dead, because he would have had to stifle the impulse to shake him by the shoulders and ask 'why?'

"I heard you break down a door," Chris interrupted, and Hank pulled himself together. "You need backup, Lieutenant? What's in the closet?"

"Looks like an android that's been abused. He— _it_ —doesn't appear to talk. Maybe if we take it in we'll get something out of it, but I'm not optimistic." Hank sighed, turning the android over to Chris. He'd seen enough to know Todd was one sick fuck, and he needed a break. A cigarette or two. He went back downstairs and out through the front door, standing on the porch in the rain as he lit up. The neighborhood wasn't a nice one, and the boots hanging from the power lines indicated that Todd wasn't shy about peddling illicit substances. Hank had to wonder at a world where they let folks like Todd go on in hopes of luring bigger fish. If the man in the closet had been human, they'd all be beating themselves up, but few were going to care about an abused android. Could androids even be abused? Hank wasn't sure, but it sure looked traumatized, and that was enough to make him feel uneasy.

He breathed out a puff of smoke as they led the android out to a waiting police car. Chris had covered its nudity with a blanket, but it looked even more wretched out in the rain. Once this case was done, it would go to the scrapyard for sure, but until then, it was material evidence. It was foolish to feel sorry for it, but it must have been such a handsome model when it was new. Hank had never seen one like it. It was such a waste for it to be destroyed like this, for the pleasure of a man like Todd. If he'd owned an android like this, he would have treated it with gentle care. He didn't understand people who abused nice things. They didn't deserve them.

Hank had seen enough for one day. He got into his Oldsmobile and sat there with the door shut, finishing his smoke and snuffing it out in the ashtray. He kept thinking about the torture room. The kind of abuse the android had been subjected to gave him chills. He wondered if it would have been next to have its head suspended from the ceiling like a macabre Halloween decoration. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he decided to stop thinking about how many androids might have passed through Todd's care. Perhaps even—he shuddered to think of it—child androids.

He cut his thoughts off right there. Some things didn't even bear consideration. He watched the police car take off with lights and sirens blazing, and resolved to treat the android as tenderly as possible. He couldn't change its eventual fate, but there was no need for cruelty. There'd been enough in this cursed house already, and he was quite happy if he never saw it again.

He started the car and drove back towards Central Station. He could make a start on questioning the witness, at least—if it talked at all. If not, he'd have to come up with another plan—hopefully one that didn't involve coercion. Regardless, he knew the image of the pretty, abused android in Todd's back closet would haunt his nightmares tonight.


	2. The Meek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of android death and deactivation. Hank's alcoholism is referenced towards the end.

The android sat handcuffed to a steel table, the bright interrogation room strip lights highlighting every dent and slash on its face. It still wore the ratty blanket Chris had given it as a shawl. 

Hank stood in the control room, biting his lip. "We gotta find out what it knows. We have no leads. Nobody in the neighborhood wants to talk, and I'm guessing it's not because Todd Williams was a stand-up guy."

"You really think you're gonna get something out of a trashed android?" Gavin scoffed. "Look at it. It's pathetic. Disgusting. You can practically see the cum oozing out of--"

"Quit bein' disgusting, Gavin," Hank snapped. "Would you say that if it was a human victim?"

Gavin laughed. "This ain't a human, and it's not a victim. It's Williams' fuckin' sex doll. You really think you're gonna get a useable lead out of it?"

"Courts have admitted android testimony in the past. If it has anything--a sound file, or some video--now or from in the past--we might be able to do more than take a shot in the dark. Which is all we can do right now. The killing was fast, and clean. This was a hit. This android might be our only hope." Hank walked out of the control room and placed his hand on the print reader that opened the door to the adjoining interrogation room.

The android looked at Hank with wide, frightened eyes, and tried to back up from the table. It pulled on the cuffs, whining in terror. The room stank like stale sweat and semen from the blanket, and Hank fought not to gag.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Hank soothed. "I just wanna ask you some questions about what happened. You're not a suspect." There was no way that an android, trapped in a closet that was locked from the outside, could have committed the crime, and the pattern of the bullet holes was too sporadic to indicate android involvement. Hank perched himself on a chair and opened up a manila folder on the table. The picture of Todd, slumped against the wall with a body full of lead, greeted him.

"This was your registered owner, Todd Williams. Am I right?"

The android nodded.

"He was killed at your home. Time of death was approximately 10:45am. Cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds."

The android sat quietly, as if absorbing the news. Hank leaned back in the chair, trying to discern what was going on. It was definitely the most advanced model he'd ever seen. He'd interviewed androids before, and many of them seemed a little stiff, like there was something slightly off about them. This android, though--he seemed like a real, traumatized, human being, and Hank was inclined to treat him like one.

"I know you've been through a lot. The evidence suggests that Mr. Williams was not the kindest owner." That was putting it mildly, but there was no point to re-traumatizing the poor thing. "Perhaps you don't want to catch his killer, but the fact remains that this perpetrator needs to be caught before they kill again. Next time, it might not be the local drug dealer. It might be an innocent civilian. I know you're programmed to protect human life as a priority."

The android reached down with his free hand and moved the picture of Todd aside. Underneath were pictures of the scene: red ice that was found in the laundry detergent, the closet where he'd had been imprisoned, the severed android head hanging in the bedroom. It seemed to pause for a moment on that one, and let out a whimper that twisted Hank's guts.

"You... probably knew her, huh? Maybe we could start with her. Did Mr. Williams own other androids? Did he use you to deliver drugs?"

The android nodded, then shook his head.

"Was Mr. Williams use of you purely a sexual thing?"

The android shook his head no.

Hank nodded. "He had you do chores around the house, then?"

Another shake before the boy pointed at the photo of the female android's head suspended on the rope, her eyes staring blankly into space, the thirium from her neck pipes long since dried and faded from human sight.

"She did the chores?" Hank asked.

A tiny nod.

"And you... stayed in the closet until Todd needed you?"

Another nod. A whimper. A tear rolled down the android's cheek as he began to cry. Hank sighed. He wasn't getting anywhere useful with this. Maybe if the android could damn well say something. It was a long shot, but it could simply be that he needed permission to talk.

"Can you speak?"

The android shook its head no. Hank nodded grimly. So much for that hope.

"What about a name? Do you have a name?" Hank reached into his pocket and tore a piece of paper out of a notebook he used for investigations. He grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and placed it down in front of the android. "Can you write it down for me?"

The boy took the pen and carefully drew one neat word on the paper. He pushed the paper and pen back across the table to Hank. Rendered in perfect font, was the name Connor.

Hank smiled, trying to project warmth. "Connor. That's a nice name. Maybe you could write out a statement? Anything you heard that day. Anything you saw. Even if you think it wasn't relevant." Hank pulled out the notebook and slid it across the table to Connor. Connor nodded. Hank stood up to leave him to it, but Connor reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him back down.

"You want me to stay?" Hank asked.

Connor nodded. Hank sat down. He was sure that on the other side of the glass, Gavin was making snide comments, but he didn't care. If this got them a lead, it was worth it.

And then--well, he tried not to think about the outcome. Connor would probably be deactivated and placed in an evidence locker until trial. After that, pending any appeal, he would be sent for scrap.

Hank thought about Connor ending up in pieces and it twisted his insides. This wasn't good. He couldn't get attached to an android witness. Androids weren't alive. This one was probably acting out trauma based on Todd's orders, because the sick fuck liked it when his sex partners struggled, cried, and fought back. Better seen and not heard, Todd had probably said, and Connor no longer used his words. But it wasn't real. Connor wasn't really feeling any of these things, and Hank knew it was a mistake to feel empathy for him. No. _It._

Connor pushed the statement across the table. Hank read it over, disappointment settling in his stomach. Connor had heard a few bumps, muffled shouting, and an automatic weapon being discharged, but there was nothing he could use to identify the perpetrator's identity.

At the bottom of the paper, in a separate paragraph, were the words: "what's going to happen to me?" Hank spun on his heel, gazing at Connor. How was a machine cognizant enough to inquire after its own fate?

"You're evidence," Hank explained. "You'll be tagged, deactivated, and placed in storage until such time as you're needed again." He sighed, feeling Connor deserved to know the truth. If he wasn't really alive, the truth wouldn't hurt him, and on the off chance he did somehow feel something, at least Hank would have been upfront about it. "This case is stone cold. Chances are, we won't be reactivating you."

The tears that brimmed in Connor's eyes forced Hank to look away. He hated his job, sometimes. He'd told victims there was nothing he could do for them before, but this was different, somehow. In the absence of legal recourse, most victims of violent and sexual crimes at least sought therapy. They had loving families who wanted to see them recover. There was a future beyond the crime committed against them. There was no such hope for Connor. In the eyes of the law, he wasn't a victim, but a piece of property, and shutting him down for storage was no more a crime than bagging up Todd's old Roomba for the fact that it had red ice residue inside it.

Todd's vacuum cleaner didn't plead with its eyes, though. Didn't sob as Hank turned away from the window, desperate to avoid Gavin seeing how deeply affected he was. The whole damn affair was cruel. Hank should have been Connor's liberator, but instead he was the executioner, come to lead Connor to his final resting place inside the bowels of the DPD.

Worse, he was too cowardly to do it himself. He called Chris on the radio, and the uniformed officer showed up almost immediately.

"It doesn't know much," Hank admitted. "I'll trust you can take it downstairs for tagging and storage." He looked down at his feet as Connor was led away, wondering if he missed a teary-eyed look of betrayal and hurt by doing so. He sure felt like Judas, selling out a friend for the money his job offered. But Connor wasn't a friend, was he? Just an android he'd discovered at a crime scene. He had no claim on Connor. He'd ended the boy's misery, but there was nothing more he could do.

Hank really needed a beer. He walked past Gavin in the hallway outside the interrogation room, who had a smug 'I told you so' look on his face. It wasn't right. Todd Williams got full rights as a murder victim, while the androids he'd kept locked up got death. The staring eyes of Todd's other android haunted him, and he wondered if it might have been kinder for Connor to end up like that. At least there would be no false hope of reactivation.

He was getting too old for this shit. Too soft and sentimental. He reckoned he'd lost that fight the moment he'd held baby Cole in his arms. Something had shifted inside of him, and the world had become about someone other than himself. Only now Cole was gone, he hadn't changed back. He still wanted to carve out a better future for the son he no longer had. A kinder, more compassionate world--one where fear no longer ruled, and the meek inherited the Earth.

The meek like Connor, who was by now being marched to an indefinite, involuntary slumber like he was Sleeping Beauty. Hank balled his hands into fists, self-loathing rising like bile in his throat as he realized he was too weak to take any action but drink until he forgot his own name.


	3. Stolen Property

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mutilated android (cis male) genitalia, alcohol abuse, smoking.

Hank knew he'd had one too many drinks when a crazy idea popped into his head. From the look in his eye, Jimmy was about to cut him off, so Hank settled his tab and wandered outside to consider his plan in the cold, sobering air. He lit up a cigarette and leaned against the wall, buying himself some time to consider whether he should go for it or call a cab home.

He wanted to steal Connor from the evidence locker, take him home, and reactivate him. The boy—the _android_ , he reminded himself—deserved a shot at something resembling normalcy. Connor should know that humans weren't all abusive bastards like Todd Williams, and the thought of caring for someone again held an appeal that Hank couldn't simply dismiss. Connor's pleading eyes had made a case he found it hard to ignore. He'd looked so sad, so pathetic, damaged and worthless in the eyes of everyone but Hank. He wondered what it said about him that he was drawn to protect hurt, weak things. Sumo had been an abused shelter pup, and one of the only joys of the past few years had been seeing the whimpering, sad puppy grow into a happy, healthy full-grown St. Bernard who often thought he was a lap dog.

There was no happy ending for an android, though, was there? Connor would be whatever Hank wanted him to be. He might unlearn the abusive crap Todd had programmed into him through beatings and rape, but what kind of life would be have? What was the endgame for an android but to eventually submit to terminal failure and reveal the true nature of the human-android relationship as the sham it was? Connor couldn't be a replacement son, and the thought of using Connor as a substitute intimate partner repulsed Hank, not least because of the abuse he'd already suffered through.

Yet he couldn't quantify the yearning he felt deep down in his gut, the invisible cord binding him to the fate of that pretty boy android. It tugged on him, begging him to go to the DPD and carry Connor out of there like a replacement service weapon.

It was an absurd concept. If he was discovered hijacking evidence for personal use, he would lose his job—and yet, nobody was ever likely to look at the Todd Williams case again. Even Gavin wasn't interested in it. Nobody got rich or gained political capital from investigating the murder of a red ice addict-turned-dealer. At the most, it might lead the department to some bigger fish, but there were easier ones to catch in a time of high unemployment and low public morale. Nobody held a vested interest in getting justice for Todd's murder. In the eyes of many—Hank included—justice had already been done. Karma had come around, and the DPD had no place trying to punish someone for carrying out a sentence that was richly deserved.

He couldn't forget about Connor, though. The broken android haunted his thoughts. The way he'd reached out and clutched Hank's wrist, begging him to stay. He finished the cigarette and threw the stub down on the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe.

Perhaps Hank was just lonely, but it had been a long time since anyone had wanted his presence. He floated around the DPD like a shadow, his best work behind him. After dark, he flitted from bar to bar until he got cut off, in hopes of forgetting the ghosts that haunted him. He only ever succeeded for a short time, and he always woke to regret it.

Maybe they were alike in that regard. Connor seemed like he had things he'd rather forget—if that was even possible for an android. He'd seemed so afraid, so vulnerable, that Hank wanted to hold him tight and promise to keep him safe. Speak to him in whispers and offer him a haven of peace and gentility. It couldn't be healthy, but then neither was drinking himself to death each night, hoping this might be the last night he'd have to endure living.

There was beauty beneath Connor's damage, and Hank imagined Connor must have looked perfect before Todd got his greasy, abusive hands on him. He could look like that again, with a little care and attention. Hank might be able to coax him out of his shell, teach him that the world wasn't all pain and suffering. And if Connor was nothing more than a machine, did it really hurt to have something to project his caring nature onto? The DPD seemed to want nothing to do with his empathy, and he had no partner to take care of. If Connor could grant him the illusion that he was needed in this world, wasn't it wise to take it?

Before he knew it, Hank was scanning his keycard at the evidence room door. He barely remembered driving there, and he was surprised he hadn't been challenged by the night shift even once, despite his obviously inebriated state. He typed his password in wrong the first time, his trembling hands staging a revolt against acting in a coordinated fashion. The second time he got it right, and the lights flicked on, the evidence from the Williams case sliding into place along the wall behind the glass door. Eventually it would be archived off site. The time to do this was now, if he was going to do it at all.

Hank immediately spotted Connor hanging on a wall bracket, naked, his head slumped. Hank sucked in a breath as he saw the full extent of the damage to his body underneath the fluorescent strip lights, especially his genitals. His cock had been cut off and melted, a disfigured stump hanging limply above a scrotum that had been torn and pierced so many times that it looked deflated. Hank bit his lip, hoping that it was true androids didn't feel pain, or Connor was undoubtedly in a lot of it. Perhaps it was a cruelty turning him back on just for him to suffer. It wasn't like Hank could take him to a technician for repair, or he'd be questioned. He wasn't the registered owner of this android, after all. Connor would have to remain like this. He was sure many owners took their androids out of service for less than this, but that only intensified Hank's wish to protect him. He didn't care if Connor wasn't fully functional. He never intended to touch him in a sexual fashion. It wouldn't be right.

Despite the melted skin, the savaged genitals, the bulging eye, and the acid damage, there was a forlorn beauty to Connor. Hank cupped his cheek gently, pressing the LED on the side of his head to wake him up. Connor raised his head as Hank lifted him down from the wall, marveling at how light his body was. Connor eyes seemed to ask a question, and it took Hank a moment to remember he didn't speak.

"I'm gettin' you out of here," Hank whispered. "I want to take care of you. Do you trust me?"

Connor nodded, clinging to his sleeve, a tiny whine leaving his voice box. He was trembling. 

Hank smiled to show he wasn't a threat, shucking his long woolen coat and throwing it around Connor's shoulders. He helped the android into it, buttoning the front to keep his dignity intact. They couldn't escape through the bullpen, but there was a back door fire escape. Normally it was alarmed, but being Lieutenant, he had the code to deactivate it. He took Connor's hand, feeling more sober than he expected. His adrenaline buzz seemed to overcome the alcohol, and a stab of fear told Hank that this entire thing was a bad idea he'd regret in the morning. A drunken decision that could have severe consequences, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care.

He hadn't come this far to quit now. Hank took Connor's hand, leading him up the stairs. He gestured for Connor to wait and checked the corridor, grateful that it was deserted this time of night. There were cameras all around. He had to rely on good old-fashioned incompetence for that one. The night shift guard was usually sleeping, and the hard drive that kept the data in Fowler's office had been flashing with a red 'storage full' light for a while now.

They turned right. Thankfully nobody emerged from the bathrooms. He made it to the back exit, scanning his ID card against the fire alarm to deactivate the door. Once he closed it on the other side, it would re-arm, and they'd be home free. He ushered Connor out onto the fire escape and the door closed behind them. From there, it was a simple matter of heading down to street level. Connor followed him without question, keeping his steps quiet.

They were a few blocks away before Hank stopped for breath. "You all right, kid?" Connor nodded, and Hank shot him a warm smile. "Guess you're never gonna talk, huh?" He reached over to ruffle Connor's hair, and Connor backed away as if he was avoiding a blow.

"Hey, hey, I wasn't gonna hurt you," Hank soothed. "I'm sorry." He swallowed down his pain and started to walk home, the sad android in tow. This might have been a mistake. He might be saddled with a broken android that could destroy his career and inflict an emotional toll Hank couldn't bear. What madness had possessed him to believe he could help a tortured, malfunctioning machine? Kindness wasn't going to help crossed wires and severed connections.

Hank paused, realizing that Connor had fallen behind. "Connor?" The android was crying, sniffing like he was a real lost boy trying to find his way home. Only he wasn't a boy. He was fashioned in the form of a thirty-something adult, with sexual features to boot. He was a broken man, and God-only-knew what kind of ways that would manifest itself. Hank might even wind up dead. A few such cases had dropped on his desk, recently, of so-called "deviant" androids who killed their masters. Connor could have killed Todd, but he hadn't. Hank assumed he was safe, but trauma rarely worked in rational ways.

"It's gonna be all right, Connor," Hank whispered. "I won't let anyone hurt you from now on. Your nightmare is over. I promise."

Connor's crying only intensified, and Hank bit his lip. "C'mon, be quiet. We gotta get home without attracting attention. I don't need to get questioned on why I'm carting around a disfigured android wearing only a coat, okay?"

Connor fell silent, and Hank breathed a sigh of relief. What was he doing? He couldn't possibly take care of a traumatized android, especially if Connor was malfunctioning. What if it did turn out he was a deviant? What then?


	4. One Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets Connor home at last, but it turns out Connor has a crippling fear of dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Connor does try to touch Hank's genitals, but Hank's having none of it.

Hank opened the front door of his home and tossed his keys onto a nearby table. He flicked on the light, and Sumo came bounding up to him, excited that he was home. Hank laughed, scratching the dog behind the ears. Sumo was such a good boy. Now he had two good boys to take care of.

He turned around to see Connor shrinking back into the yard, trembling. He looked ready to bolt, his LED spinning a furious red. He seemed to be frozen like a deer in the face of an oncoming semi-truck.

"Sumo won't hurt you, Connor. He's a friend." Hank bid Sumo to sit, and he came to heel, panting heavily. "See? He does what I tell him to, and I'd never let him harm you. Besides, he's a lover, not a fighter. Worst he'd do is try to sit in your lap."

Connor seemed to shrink back further. Hank reached out and grabbed his wrist, fearing he might actually flee. Out there in the city, he didn't stand a chance. If the cops didn't catch up with him for being a runaway android, some pissed off unemployed human would. He'd brought Connor here to escape that kind of brutality. He wasn't going to let a fear of dogs sabotage his plan.

"Did Todd set dogs on you?" Hank narrowed his eyes. Connor didn't have any visible teeth marks, but who knew? He'd sustained so much damage that it would be hard to tell.

Connor nodded slowly, then shook his head. He pushed past Hank and walked into the house, keeping his eyes on Sumo as he tiptoed around him. He stopped at the bathroom door, his eyes seeming to ask permission to enter. Hank gave up on trying to figure out what Connor meant with his mixed signals, and decided to focus on the present. It probably wasn't good to dwell on what Connor had been through. He'd heard reports of androids becoming unstable under high stress. It would be a tragedy for him to go through so much only for Connor to self-destruct.

"That's not a bad idea. How about you wash up, and I'll find you something to wear? I'm sure I've got some old clothes you can have." Hank went into his bedroom and started digging in his closet as he heard the water running. His old DPD hoodie wasn't being used any more, and he had a pair of sweatpants that were too small on him. They'd drown Connor, but he could use the strings to pull them tighter. It was the best he could do for now. He put them down on the carpet.

Hank knocked on the door. "I left some clothes outside, Connor. I'll be in the kitchen making myself something to eat." He went into the kitchen and made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He heard the bathroom door open and close. Well, he'd gotten Connor through the front door at least. The rest he'd have to work on another time. He knew nothing about how androids worked, and he wasn't going to be stupid enough to ask at the DPD and alert everyone that he'd gotten himself an android. He'd have to do a little bit of internet research, but right now, he was tired. The adrenaline buzz was wearing off and he was sobering up. Normally, at this juncture, he'd drink some more and go to bed, but drinking with the android in the house didn't seem like a good plan. What if Connor tried to kill him in his sleep? He had to admit, now that he had Connor in his sanctuary, that he was a little frightened of the android. He hoped it didn't do anything unpredictable, but it was hard to tell what he was capable of.

Hank rapped on the door as he walked by. "I'm goin' to bed. Don't use up all the hot water. Oil isn't cheap." He closed his bedroom door behind him and stripped down to his boxers, climbing into bed and pulling the blankets over him. He fell asleep almost at once.

"Sumo, get _off_ ," Hank grumbled, pushing the dog's paw away. Only it wasn't a dog's paw, but a hand closed around his arm. Hank opened his eyes and crawled back against the headboard. Connor's acid-damaged face stared him down and he yelled, hitting his head against the wall before he remembered what had happened.

"Jesus! Connor. Fuck." Hank gasped for breath, his hand over his chest. "Don't do that to me. You'll give me a fuckin' heart attack! What are you even _doing_ in here?" He felt oddly exposed, the air caressing his skin and chest hair, and he grabbed his blanket, pulling it up over his tattooed chest. That's when he realized Connor was still naked. "Thought I told you to put those clothes on."

Connor's eyes glistened in the moonlight. Hank reached over and flicked on the lamp, and its soft warm glow permeated the darkness. Connor looked more pathetic than threatening, his sad boy eyes pleading with Hank for something.

"I don't know what you want," Hank tried to explain. Connor's hand snaked under the covers and closed around his dick. Hank's entire body stiffened like he'd been touched with a cattle prod. Horror coiled through him and he jerked away.

"Connor, no, I don't bring you here for that! Did you... Did you really think...?" He let the thought hang in the air. "Oh God. I never--I _would_ never--" Hank closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. "I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. I didn't bring you here for you to be my slave, Connor. I brought you here because I--I want to _help_ you. I want to save you from the kind of horrors Todd Williams subjected you to. God, I'm an idiot, aren't I? I brought you here to heal you, but you're not human. You're just carrying out your programming, and that programming is sexual." He scoffed, wondering why he hadn't seen it before.

Maybe because sexual programming didn't account for the fact Connor had been trembling in his doorway at the sight of a dog. Androids were designed to integrate with humans, but not to the degree that they simulated human fear and other negative emotions. That was the whole damn point of intimate partner androids. All the boons of a relationship, without any of the hard negotiation or arguments. No hurt feelings, because androids didn't have needs to be met or fears to be skirted around like real humans did.

Hank swallowed. He wanted to ask if Connor was a deviant, but at the same time, he didn't want to know the answer. Deviants were dangerous. If Connor was a deviant, the safest thing for Hank to do would be to return him to the precinct, and he couldn't see himself doing that.

So instead he eased Connor's hand away. "I don't want you to perform sex acts on me. Not now, not in the future. Okay?" It came out harsher than he intended, a threatening growl of irritation. Connor recoiled, almost like a wounded animal. His severed stump of a dick softened, and Hank looked away, disgusted by the whole damn affair. Why had he brought Connor here? Was he that lonely that he thought he could fill the void by somehow helping this android? He watched Connor leave the room, and let out a sigh of relief as he clicked the light off. Sumo padded in and curled up on the bed next to him, and Hank finally relaxed, petting the dog's soft fur as he contemplated what the hell he was going to do with a broken sex android.


	5. The First Steps Toward Trust

Hank woke to the blaring beep of his alarm clock and sighed. He needed to get to work, but his head was pounding. He crawled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, downing two painkillers with water as he gazed into the mirror. He was a mess, as usual. He hadn't slept well last night, mostly because of that fucking android—

_Shit_. Where was Connor? Hank wandered out into the living room. Connor wasn't there. He glanced into the kitchen. Sumo was lapping water out of his dish, but there was no sign of the android. He even opened the door to the garage and clicked the light on, but the boxes of junk he'd piled up since moving in were still there, undisturbed. Nobody had been in here in a long time.

Hank sighed. So, Connor had fled during the night. He couldn't say he was surprised, but it wasn't the outcome he wanted. Out there, in the big city, Connor wouldn't last as a deviant android. It was illegal for androids to go off the grid, and if anyone found him, he'd be destroyed. Hank had put his job on the line for nothing, in the end—and yet, Connor deserved to make his own choice, in the end. If he was alive in some sense—as Hank suspected he was—then it was cruel to keep him here against his will, even in the name of personal safety.

Hank gave up the search and went to pick out some clothes for the day. He pulled his striped shirt off its hanger, tossing it onto the bed. With clumsy hands, he knocked the hanger onto the floor and it bounced into the back of the closet. Hank got down on hands and knees, bemoaning his luck as he groped around for the hanger.

And put his hand on a bare leg instead. He opened his eyes to find Connor's face illuminated by his blue LED. Connor scrambled back further into the closet in some desperate attempt to get away, but hit the wall. Hank pulled his hand away like he'd been burned, placing it down on the carpet.

"Connor?" Hank quashed the relief he felt, knowing it to be a selfish emotion. "What are you doing in here?" Of course, Connor couldn't answer that question. "You don't need to hide in here. I'm not gonna hurt you. I wasn't angry, last night. I was just... surprised." Hank sighed. He wasn't good at talking about his feelings, especially when he got little to no feedback at all. It was like talking to himself. "You've been through immeasurable cruelty. Forced into sex acts against your will. I don't do shit like that. I brought you here in hopes you could live something close to a normal life. Maybe that was a selfish wish, I dunno." He climbed into the closet and sat cross-legged on the carpet next to Connor. Shirt tails tickled his ears, but there was something comforting about being back here, away from everything and everyone. "This is your home, now. You don't have to live in a closet any more, or do anything you don't want to do. You can wear clothes. Do whatever it is androids do when they're not working." Hank shrugged.

He didn't expect Connor to start crying. Tears spilled from his eyes, followed by hitching and heaving.

"Hey, it's all right," Hank whispered. "You're safe here. I'm never gonna let anyone hurt you ever again, you hear?"

Connor's sobbing only intensified. Hank gently reached over and touched his hair, finding it to be silky soft. He petted Connor's hair like he was stroking Sumo, gently combing through it with his fingers. Connor leaned his head against Hank's shoulder, and they sat like that for a good, long time. 

Hank knew he was late for work, but couldn't bring himself to care. What was there left for him there, anyway? Certainly he had no interest in tracking down Todd's killer. He might be inclined to give the suspect a pat on the back and thank him for a job well done. There wasn't a single part of him that believed justice was served by putting anyone behind bars for killing such a man, and that alone told him he no longer belonged at the department. 

Sumo padded into the room. He sniffed Hank out easily, and tried squeezing into the back of the closet. It was getting awfully cramped and hot, and Hank was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

"Sumo. Sit." Sumo did as he was told, panting.

"Connor, it's all right if you want to pet him. He won't hurt you. He's a gentle giant. You have my word."

Connor let out a small whine, but shifted forward slightly, reaching out a hand. He let Sumo sniff it, then, with trembling fingers, petted his head. Sumo stayed where he was as Connor eased a hand down his back. Sumo panted contentedly, tongue hanging out.

"There you go," Hank soothed. "Nothin' to worry about." He crawled out of the closet, cursing the poor circulation in his legs that was giving him pins and needles. He used the bed to haul himself to his feet, and was glad when Connor followed him out. Sumo gazed at them both, but stayed put, bound by Hank's command. Hank offered Connor a hand, and Connor took it, standing up. He reached down to ruffle Sumo's ears. "Go on, boy." Sumo padded out of the room.

"Now, you gonna put your clothes on? Don't make me dress you, Connor. You're not my son. You're an android capable of all kinds of things, and I won't have you wandering around here naked all day long." He hated using his stern voice, but the last thing he needed was anyone catching a glimpse of a naked android through a crack in the blinds. Especially one with mutilated genitals. That was the kind of attention that would bring the wrath of the DPD down on him for stealing evidence. He would only get away with it so long as nobody knew, but Connor's unique appearance coupled with his disfigurement left no doubt that he was the same android that had been taken into evidence at Todd Williams' murder scene. One complaint, and it would all be over. Connor would be deactivated.

As for Hank—Hank wasn't sure what he'd do then. He was starting to really like the boy, timid as he was. They were making progress when it came to trust. It made Hank feel good inside to know he was helping in some small way. Making Connor's life—such as it was—one worth living, as opposed to being a living hell.


	6. Guard Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hank gets drunk, there's also a mention of Hank's suicidal tendencies (Russian Roulette).

The call, when it came, caught Hank off-guard. He was at a gas station, getting himself some hot-dogs as a snack after simply no-showing for work when his cellphone rang. Gavin's number showed up on his caller ID. He entertained the idea of sending him to voicemail, but then he ran the risk of someone coming to his home. The last thing he wanted was Connor answering the door and giving the game away.

"We've picked up a suspect in the Williams case. You gonna get down here and interrogate this asshole or not?" Hank didn't miss the sneer in Gavin's voice, the one that said— _I've done your job for you, you prick_ —and bit his lip on the curse he wanted to fire back.

"Hold on a sec, Gav."

Hank squeezed the hot dog—still enclosed in its foil wrapper—so hard he crushed the bun and made some of the nacho cheese spill out into the sleeve, no doubt. The cashier gave him an odd look as he checked out and went outside. He slammed his car door shut before continuing the conversation.

"I'm not comin' in today. Do what you gotta do," Hank growled.

"You gotta be kiddin' me. First the fuckin' android from the case goes missing, now you're not even gonna show up to question the suspect?"

Hank felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. How had they found out so fast? "What do you mean the android went missing?"

"I went into the evidence locker this morning—Fowler asked me to look into the case after you didn't show—and the fucking thing was just gone."

"Well that's just fucking _great_ ," Hank bitched, hoping he sounded convincing. "You think someone took it to sell the parts?"

"How would I know? You're the Lieutenant of this goddamn precinct!" Gavin snapped. "Are you gonna do your job or not?"

"Fine. I'll be right there." Hank ended the call, leaning back against the headrest and letting out a long sigh. "Fuck," he muttered to nobody in particular. So much for letting the case rot. Fowler had given it to Gavin, who had a hound dog's nose for cases that were better off being left alone. Now he had a suspect to interrogate, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

***

It was late by the time Hank got home. Connor wasn't in standby, but was sitting on the couch watching television. He would have looked like any normal man if it wasn't for the damage and the LED.

"Sorry," Hank muttered as he took off his jacket. "They found a suspect in Todd's death. Looks like we'll be pressing charges."

Connor continued to stare at the television. Sumo slept on in his bed.

"It's all right if you're angry. Todd... deserved what he had comin' to him. I'd hoped we could bury this case and get on with our lives, but that doesn't seem to have happened. I also have to open an investigation into what happened to you, since Gavin discovered you went missing."

That did get Connor's attention. He turned, eyes wide and frightened as he stared at Hank.

"I'm not takin' you back, if that's what you think." Hank sat down on the couch next to Connor and muted the television for his own sanity. It was louder than he liked, and he wondered if Connor had hearing damage on top of everything else. "I'll falsify the report, say it was inconclusive what became of you and that you were likely disposed of in error. Hell, maybe I'll blame it on my own drunken stupidity. Gavin will believe that one, at least."

Connor bowed his head.

"Don't look so sad. If I lose my job, I lose my job. There was a time when that would have cut me open, but I don't feel the same way about it any more. It's a marriage that was over long ago, I suppose. Maybe Jeffrey will let me take retirement instead and that'll be the end of it." He shrugged.

Connor reached for the coffee table, where a pen and one of Hank's old spiral-bound notebooks sat. He picked it up and wrote out the words "Thank you."

Hank smiled. "You're welcome, kid. Can't say I know why I did it. Felt sorry for you, I guess. Nobody deserves what you must have gone through."

Connor nodded, and went back to staring at the television. Hank stood up and went into the kitchen. He made himself some dinner, and lamented the fact it was too late to go to the bar. He pulled out the Black Lamb whiskey and sat at the kitchen table. It was weird, drinking like this with someone present, but Connor didn't seem to notice.

Until he did. Connor switched off the television and got up. He walked over to the table and pried the whiskey from Hank's fingers.

"Hey, what'cha doin'? Hank complained. "Give that back."

Connor's eyes filled with tears. He put the whiskey down on the table with shaking hands and backed off, getting down on his knees.

"Connor, no, you're not in any trouble or anythin'—" He took another sip from the whiskey bottle. Clarity hit him as the amber liquid hit the back of his throat, and he realized Connor was afraid likely because Todd was a serial substance abuser, and he probably forced Connor to do the worst things when he was under the influence. "Stand up. Please."

Connor got to his feet.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, kid. I drink. A lot. Some things happened that I just can't forget, but I won't ask you to do anything while I'm drunk."

Connor went over to the table and grabbed the notepad and pen. He tore a sheet of paper off and placed it in front of Hank on the kitchen table almost angrily.

"You can't promise that," it said in damning, perfectly formed letters. Hank closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. Connor was right. He couldn't promise a goddamn thing, even though he knew in his heart of hearts he would never be like Todd.

But nor could he quit drinking.

"I'm sorry," Hank muttered. He took another sip. And another. And another, Connor's brown eyes boring into him the entire time. Waiting for the shoe to drop. Hank felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world, each drop a betrayal of his promise to provide Connor with safety and comfort.

At least he had the foresight not to bring out the gun. At some point he fell asleep in the chair, and he dreamt of handing Connor the revolver, forcing him to pull the trigger, each 'click' as the hammer hit an empty chamber making them both jump.

He woke with a start to find himself in bed. He checked his bedside drawer to find his revolver was locked in its case. Connor was beside him, in standby mode--still fully clothed, thank fuck.

He had to quit the bottle, for Connor's sake. Connor's eyes flicked open, aware and alert. As if he'd been waiting for this inevitable moment, when Hank would wake up, still pretty drunk. He took a step towards the bed and pulled back the sheets, exposing Hank's morning wood to the air.

Hank batted Connor's hand away before he could reach for it. "Don't you even fuckin' dare, kid."

Connor backed off, and Hank covered himself with the sheet, eager to preserve what little dignity he had left. Bile rose in his throat, his liquor threatening to come back with a vengeance.

"Even soused, I'm ten times the man he was." Hank hated how offended he sounded. It wasn't right for him to feel this way. He was the one who'd betrayed Connor's trust by drinking, but the warm buzz inside him didn't see it that way. "Always waitin' for the hammer to fall, aren't you?"

The noise Connor let out wasn't fear, but scorn, the soft, yet damning 'humph' of a man who knew better from experience. It scared Hank halfway sober and he knew Connor was right. He'd never hurt anyone else while he was drunk, but he'd often woken with his revolver on the table wondering how it had got there. One chamber loaded, just begging to get lucky. Sometimes he even found his hand in his boxers, dried semen forming a crust on his leg hair. To pretend he was in control when he was drunk was a lie. He played with fire on a nightly basis and bringing Connor home was only pouring gasoline onto the flames. How long would it be before his drunken mind recognized Connor as just a machine and excused the inexcusable?

"Maybe you're right to be afraid. God, you deserve better than me." Hank buried his face in the pillow, wishing he could suffocate himself with the shame he felt. "You deserve so much better than me..." He knew his resolution to quit drinking was a much a lie as the pretense that he was under control when he was drunk.

Connor gently petted Hank's hair with his hand, stroking it, and if Hank thought he couldn't possibly feel worse, that cinched the deal. His stomach chose that moment to revolt and he sat bolt upright, pushing a surprised Connor back from the side of the bed as he bolted into the bathroom and shut the door. He knelt down before the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He heaved, gasping for breath as his eyes watered and he longed for death.

The bathroom door swung open and Hank sighed. Connor eased him to his feet and flushed the toilet. He led him over to the sink, coating his toothbrush in fresh paste and handing it to Hank.

"You don't gotta..." Hank looked at Connor's eyes and realized it would be a sin to refuse. Connor was trying to care for him. To throw it back in his face was... Hank turned on the faucet and brushed his teeth as Connor watched in silence, studying him. Hank had to wonder what went on inside that head of his. Was he really, truly, aware of all this, or was he mimicking what he thought a human response would be based on his programming and his own lived experiences? He washed the toothbrush clean and placed it back in the cup, shutting off the water and looking up at Connor. "Thanks." He reached out and touched Connor's cheek, on the side of his face clear of acid damage. He brushed his thumb over Connor's lips, enraptured by his ruined beauty, and then tore it away as soon as he realized what he was doing. "Sorry."

Connor reached out and grabbed his wrist, drawing Hank's hand back to his face. Hank smirked, cupping his chin in his palm as Connor seemed to lean into his touch. He moved his hand up and stroked Connor's hair. It was soft to the touch, and he once again cursed Todd's name for destroying something so utterly beautiful. He wanted to drop to his knees in worship, kiss and caress Connor from the ground up, and he realized the alcohol was still talking through him, making him drop the guard he'd so rightfully erected around his desperate desire for intimacy.

He could never have that with Connor. There was no scenario in which it would be appropriate. Connor couldn't even vocalize his opinions, and even if he could, he was conditioned never to refuse. Perhaps even forced by his programming. Hank didn't know, and so he could never acquire informed consent. Without that—

Hank pulled away and turned his back on Connor. Perhaps he should drive him to a field someplace outside of Detroit and set him free, but with his damage, he could never pass as human. Hank would be subjecting Connor to certain death, on the pretext of 'out of sight, out of mind'. Keeping him here was safer, even if Hank suffered with lapses of judgment at times. He wouldn't allow himself to fall in love with Connor, and he certainly wouldn't let anything happen between them. He was a grown man, in control of his faculties.

As if in response, Connor fixed him with those big, brown eyes, and Hank forced himself to think of terrible things. Of Connor's face melting. Of dogs tearing at him. Of Todd, hurting and beating this precious face within inches of deactivation.

"HaNK."

It took Hank a moment to realize that Connor had spoken. His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard, like a rusted mechanism trying to move after years of disuse, but it was there.

"You spoke!" Hank seized Connor by the shoulders, a huge grin breaking out on his face.

Connor shrugged, and Hank realized he'd fallen silent again.

"It's all right," Hank soothed. "One thing at a time, Connor. You're doing great." He pulled Connor into a big bear hug, holding him tightly for a good, long time after that. It had been so long since he'd held anybody, and Connor seemed to melt into him, clutching at the back of his shirt with desperate fingers.

"It's all right," Hank repeated, but he wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort Connor or himself.


	7. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussions of past sexual assault/rape, involuntary arousal, hypersexuality, agency, and consent. Confession of a dubiously consensual sex act that occurred while one party was drunk, with both parties blaming themselves, but both consenting in hindsight.
> 
> Notes: There's some heavy stuff in this chapter, but I refrain from the explicit details of what happened to Connor at Todd's hands. I don't feel it's necessary for the plot to include it. I think you can all read between the lines and figure it out. 
> 
> This fic is almost done. There's one more chapter after this that wraps everything up in a happy ending. It's already written, so you don't have to worry about this fic not being finished. The conclusion will be posted in 7 days (or shortly after). 
> 
> A special apology/shoutout to that one fan who's been waiting desperately for this fic to get updated. I like writing the heavy stuff, but a lot of my fic goes to places that are personal in nature and I have to have the emotional strength to shine that mirror inside myself and share the lessons and things I've learned from and experienced in life. Thank you for your patience.

Gavin had decided to file charges on the suspect, and Hank couldn't do anything about it. All the evidence pointed to Leo Manfred as the only likely suspect. Worse, Gavin had even lined up a witness who stated he'd seen Manfred enter the house around the time of the murder. 

A murder was still a murder, he told himself. It was cold comfort, but it was something. He was an officer, bound to uphold the law, and the law stated that murderers went to jail.

Unless they murdered androids, of course.

Hank opened his front door and took his coat off. The house was quiet, except for Sumo, who barked as he entered. Hank petted him and walked by, wondering where Connor might possibly be hiding this time. He waltzed into the bedroom and opened the closet, shining his phone flashlight inside. He'd thought they were past this, but perhaps not. It wasn't like Connor's trauma would just go away overnight. It would take time for his mental scars to heal, and depending on what he'd dealt with, there might not be any circumstance in which he could live a normal life.

As if there was such a thing for a machine. Hank sighed. The closet was empty, but that wasn't the reason for his heavy heart. He kept forgetting that Connor was an android, because he was so alive. So real. There was no way this could all be programming, was there? Who would program a machine to act traumatized? Who could possibly _want_ that as a feature? Todd, perhaps, but even then, Hank doubted the bastard would have wanted his android to be barely functional.

"Connor, where are—" Hank started to worry that Connor had simply left when he heard a burst of static from underneath the bed. He got down on his hands and knees and shone the light under the bed. Connor lay curled up in the fetal position, naked, shaking like a leaf.

"Connor, it's all right. You're safe, here. I promise." Hank recalled last night and wanted to pour every last drop of alcohol down the sink. "You don't have to be afraid. The other shoe is never going to drop. I'm not ever going to ask for anything from you." Hank lay on his side to decrease the pressure on his aching arms. "If you'd feel safer leaving, I'll help you get to the border. Whatever it takes."

Connor shook his head. The tears on his cheeks glistened in the harsh cellphone light.

"You can't keep hiding. That's no way to live," Hank soothed. Something caught his eye and he shone his flashlight. The sight of his revolver discarded under the bed gave him pause. He hadn't stashed it there. He kept it in his bedside drawer. Not the safest place for a gun, but since Cole's death, gun safety was the last thing on his mind. "Connor, what are you doing with that?"

"I—I'm sOrRy." Connor's voice came out in that odd, strained tone, every word discordant and pronounced like English was a second language.

"No. I'm sorry." Hank realized—blood running cold in his veins—that he hadn't dreamt of handing Connor the revolver last night. He'd been playing Russian Roulette after all, and if he'd done that, what else had he—? "Last night—what did I do? Connor, you gotta tell me." Hank clawed at the carpet, the pile rough against his fingertips as vague memories flashed into his mind. Pointing the gun at his temple. Playing with the trigger. His cock, stirring as he danced with death.

Connor's hand wrapped around him, playing with him, lowering his mouth to lick the tip as Hank gasped—

"NoThing," Connor said. Hank wanted to feel relief, and yet he couldn't. He couldn't know for sure if any of his memories were real, or conjured from paranoia because he couldn't recall what had happened last night.

"Don't lie to me." Hank fought the urge to ball his hands into fists and yell, but that wasn't the right thing to do. He was the one who had acted out of turn. What was he thinking, getting drunk in front of Connor? "You're not in trouble. I just need to know."

Connor's sobbing intensified. Hank inhaled a long, deep breath. This had been a terrible mistake. Bringing Connor here, telling himself the lie that he could keep this traumatized android safe from harm. How could he keep Connor safe when he was attracted to him? When deep down, he wanted Connor to touch him and pleasure him? How disgusting was he that this ruined beauty drew him in like a moth to a flame? He was a monster like Todd, and he didn't deserve to have Connor in his life.

Connor reached for the gun, but Hank caught him before he could yank it away. He closed his hand over Connor's, preventing him from moving the revolver. 

"I'm As BAd aS he WaS," Connor blurted out.

"Todd? God, no, Connor, that's not true at all!" Hank realized with horror that Connor believed he was the one who'd taken advantage.

"I WaITed for yOU tO ordEr mE. I wAnted iT. WhEn you dId noT, I tOOk whAt I wAnTed." Connor's sobbing stopped. "I cUT my diCk off tO stOp it, bUt I sTIll DEsire."

Hank closed his eyes. "Connor, what did you do?"

"I SUcked YouR—"

"Jesus." The hazy memories flooded back into Hank's brain. Connor bobbing on his dick like a professional. Hank moaning, uttering affirmations as he idly stroked Connor's hair. He'd orgasmed in Connor's mouth and then he'd forgotten. He'd woken up and shared a tender moment in the bathroom with the boy he'd just— "Give me the gun." He was filled with the sudden impulse to use it, the self loathing so strong he knew he deserved to die. Looking at Connor was like turning a mirror on himself, and what was there was so ugly it should have broken the glass. 

Connor's grip was strong. The android hitched himself closer, still keeping his hand on the gun. "I LIke SEx."

"You've never known anything else. You've never had a choice!" Hank bit his lip so hard he drew blood. "Sometimes victims of sexual assault become hypersexual. That doesn't make it right for me to take advantage of you." He sucked in another breath.

"yOu wEre drUnk. yoU previOuSly rebUffed my aDvances. I toOk advanTage Of you."

"Is that really what you think?" Hank grunted. "Connor, I've been attracted to you from the moment I met you. That's why I never should have brought you home."

"I'm ruined," Connor said. "Why would you want me?"

It took Hank a whole thirty seconds to realize Connor's voice had come out not just as normal, but that Connor had the most beautiful voice Hank had ever heard. He flapped his lips uselessly, realizing that for the moment, he was the one whose voice had been stolen.

"You are far from ruined," Hank whispered. "You're perfect." He eased the gun from Connor's grip and reached up to the bedside table, putting it out of easy reach and returning to the matter at hand. "Your voice, it's—"

"Do you like damaged androids, Hank? Would you prefer me to remain broken?" The accusation was ruthless, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Hank blinked, examining himself to see if there was any truth to Connor's allegation. "No, Connor. I just like _you_. I want to protect you. Damn fine job I'm doing of it so far." He released the sigh he'd been holding. "I'm the one who's as bad as Todd."

Connor seemed to deflate. "You could _never_ be like him. Hank, I—I want to tell you what Todd did to me. Can we go into the kitchen?"

Hank sat up. He offered Connor a hand to crawl out from underneath the bed. Connor wasn't shaking anymore—in fact, his face held a look of determination and resolve Hank had never seen on his face. Perhaps he'd misjudged Connor's strength and free will in his own desire to protect him. As if to affirm that thought, Connor stood up and offered Hank a hand. Hank used it to pull his old body up, his joints cursing him for laying on the hard floor. He staggered into the kitchen behind Connor, knowing he was about to hear something that would tear his heart out from inside his chest.

He sat down at the table and let Connor speak. Connor recounted his story without stopping. Hank raptly listened through it all, a million emotions threatening to overwhelm him, the predominant one of which was anger. Connor finished and sat still, his face turned down towards the table.

"…So if you want nothing to do with me, Hank, I'll understand. I'm disgusting."

Hank swallowed his anger. It was self-serving. It couldn't help Connor. What he needed here was logic, tempered with compassion and empathy. 

"Connor, look at me." When he didn't meet Hank's gaze, Hank reached over and gently placed a hand underneath his chin, lifting it. "You couldn't possibly know this, but it's common for sexual assault survivors to feel arousal during the act. It's the body preparing for sex, and it's not your fault."

"I'm not human," Connor pointed out.

"Yeah, you're an android designed to mimic human behavior. Designed to obey your owner's commands. When Todd said stand, you stood. When he told you to sit, you sat. And when he… when he did what he did, your body responded with arousal. That doesn't mean you consented. Would you have done those things if given the choice?"

Connor shook his head. "No, of course not! But I could have deviated!"

"Would it have changed anything? He threatened your life, Connor. He killed the android you lived with. You might not have been bound to his commands, but his threats would have kept you there, doing his bidding. You did what you had to do to survive, and there's no shame in that." Hank thumbed a fresh tear from Connor's cheek.

"I took advantage of you when you were drunk…" Connor sobbed.

Hank shook his head. "Difference is, I would have consented if I'd known you really wanted it. The only thing that's been holding me back from you is the fear that you're doing what you think is expected of you. I don't want sex under those conditions. I don't get off on anyone being coerced or forced. I have committed a different sin, however." 

"What do you mean?" Connor asked.

"I underestimated your agency. At first, I wasn't sure what to think about this whole deviancy thing, but it's clear you're a living being."

"If you didn't think I was alive… why did you bring me home?" Connor's eyes widened.

"I wanted someone to care for," Hank confessed. "It was selfish of me, I know. My son died in an accident, and I started to feel like life was pointless. I wanted to give myself the feeling—even if it was only an illusion—that someone still relied on me. I'm sorry."

Connor wiped his eyes. "I do rely on you. If it hadn't been for you, I would be a piece of evidence stashed in a locker. Property, to be disposed of as the DPD saw fit. You saved me."

"I'm no saint. I drink too much, I have suicidal tendencies, and I brought you home to make myself feel better. If you want to cross the border to Canada, where there are no android laws, I'll make it happen. All you have to do is say the word."

"What if I want to stay here?" Connor asked.

"Then you're welcome to stay." Hank smirked. "Next time you wanna, uh, suck my dick, though, can you do it at a time when I can remember it later?" Hank stood up, the chair scraping on the floor behind him as he did so. He walked towards the door, grabbing his coat as he realized there was something he needed to do.

"Hank, where are you going?" Connor called out.

"I need to take care of some unfinished business, Connor. I'll be home soon, okay? We can talk as much as you want. I just have to set something right."


	8. Take It Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: There's some powerplay in this, and there's also discussion and admission of broken android fetishism on Hank's part. There's also a sex scene involving fellatio with Connor's ruined dick, and Connor's eye pops out at a vital moment, so be aware that's something you can cope with before you get that far.
> 
> Notes: Despite all the warnings, this is pretty sweet and in my mind, a very happy and satisfying ending, despite there being a little bit of that Reis-brand weirdness in there. I apologize for the long delay in getting this out. I had to dig into a personal place and run fingers over some old scars, and I needed to be in the right place mentally to do that in any way that did the story justice. I'm pretty happy with how this came out, all things considered, and I hope it's not too controversial. This is the end of Shattered!

The precinct was quiet so late at night. Most of the night shift was out on patrol, and nobody blinked an eyelid at Hank's quiet entrance. He went over to his desk and logged into his computer, taking care of some files. He walked to holding cell number three and let himself in. Leo Manfred sat on the bench, his hands pressed together in quiet resolve. 

"Are you going to charge me or not, Lieutenant Anderson? You're running out of time." The man was handsome, but the red rings around his brown eyes suggested he was suffering with substance abuse problems. Hank was no stranger to what red ice did to its victims.

Hank sat down on the bench opposite. "You're Carl Manfred's son."

"You brought that up during the interrogation." Leo folded his arms. "What about it? If you're hoping to get a bribe out of my dad, forget about it."

Hank wrinkled his nose. He smelled a rat. "With all your father's money, why would you go to a street dealer like Williams?"

"Do I look like I'm rolling in cash? Dad's cheap. He only loves his goddamn paintings—and that android he's replaced me with." Leo sighed. "If this is some half-assed attempt to get me to confess, forget about it."

"I'm here to make a deal," Hank said. "You tell me what happened, I make sure you get out on a technicality."

"Did Dad pay you to come here?" Leo eyed the camera up in the corner of the cell. "Fucking typical. He's just trying to preserve his name, you know. He doesn't care about me."

"Camera's off," Hank assured him. The same trick was going to work twice, because everyone at the precinct trusted him. Thought him above reproach. If he got out of this without jail time, he was going to hand in his badge and retire. He couldn't uphold the letter of the law any more. Not when assholes like Todd Williams were treated with more dignity than living machines. Everybody had to know androids were alive. Humans were in denial, and that only made the whole thing worse. Hank crossed his arms and waited for a reply.

Leo looked at Hank like he'd grown two heads. "You just want the truth? Why? Is this some kind of trick?"

"No trick," Hank said. "If I was recording you, it wouldn't be admissible in court. I need to know for personal reasons."

"What reason could you possibly have that would be worth placing your whole career in jeopardy?"

"Todd had an android stashed away in an upstairs closet. He did unspeakable things to him." Hank closed his hand into a fist, thinking of all the things Connor had told him. "He knew Connor was self-aware, and he relished that fact. Todd deserved to die, Leo. It was justice."

"What if I told you it was for a drug debt?" Leo folded his arms. "Would you still let me go?"

"Was it?"

"No. No, it wasn't." Leo's eyes seemed to grow darker still. "He paraded that machine around to all his clients. I think he got off on people watching him fuck it. It was disgusting, but that wasn't why I killed him." He pursed his lips. "Todd owned several dogs, and he abused the shit out of them. I went to get my usual bag of ice, and he kicked one of them on the way into the laundry room. I just… snapped. I was carrying a gun for protection and I went apeshit on him. I made sure he was dead and I took the dogs to a friend who works at the scrapyard. Strolled out of the back door and down the alley like I was taking them for a walk." Leo shrugged. "Now you know. I've got a soft spot for animals, I guess, but you and I are in agreement. Todd Williams deserved to die."

Hank stood up. "We don't have sufficient evidence to press charges."

"You're lying."

"Maybe. It's possible some ballistics evidence matching bullets found in the victim to your gun was lost in the shuffle. Or maybe not. Detective Reed will be fuming in the morning. Regardless, you're a free man." Hank stood up to open the door.

Leo paused. "You really did all this for a broken android?"

"He's not broken," Hank replied. "Connor's alive, and I wanna spare him the horror of watching Todd's crimes spelled out all over television."

"I hope for his sake that's not true," Leo said, "but if it is, you'd better look after him. Todd was a monster, Lieutenant, a living, breathing beast in human flesh." He swallowed. "Don't suppose you have any left over red ice in evidence? I'll pay you for it."

"Get the fuck outta here," Hank said, "before I change my mind." He led Leo out of the station and they went their separate ways. Hank drove to Riverside Park and watch the river flow by with a bottle of whiskey. Gavin tried to call him a dozen times and left five angry voicemails. Hank thought he might feel something when Gavin threatened to report him in one of the messages, but he didn't. All he could think of was the android sitting at home, waiting for him to come back.

He left the rest of the whiskey on the park bench and drove away. His badge and letter of resignation would be on Fowler's desk in the morning, his last act as Lieutenant.

He thought about Leo. It was entirely possible his story was bullshit, but it rang true with what Connor had told him. Hank wanted to believe it, because it eased his guilt about letting a killer go free. Something didn't sit right with the idea that Connor's abuse was common knowledge, but it was Todd kicking a dog that had driven Leo over the edge to commit murder. Perhaps Leo cared more about what had happened to Connor than he wanted to admit, but the truth was, most people saw androids as mere machines, regardless of how alive they seemed. It was possible that Leo had realized that what Todd did to Connor, he'd likely done to humans as well. Maybe he'd been triggered by trauma in his own past, something he had no desire to reveal to a stranger. Hank would never know the full story, but he supposed it didn't matter. The outcome was the same. He'd trashed the evidence before he'd ever stepped in that room, with every intention of letting Leo go.

There had been no reason to let Manfred walk, other than the fact Hank wanted to kill Todd too, when he'd heard Connor's story—and had Todd lived, he could have seen himself at the hospital with a pillow in his hands. Leo had spared him the temptation of going to a place he could never come back from, and he was grateful for that, in his own way.

He pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the car. He'd done what he set out to do, and Connor's ordeal was over. There would be no trial. Connor wouldn't have to watch Manfred go to jail for something he'd probably wanted to do himself. Hank unlocked the front door and let himself in. Connor sat at the kitchen table, his face lighting up as he saw Hank.

"I was afraid you weren't coming back," Connor said. "I thought I might have told you too much. That you didn't want me in your house anymore once you knew—"

"Connor, I went to let Todd's killer go."

Connor's pupils widened until they were huge black saucers engulfing his brown irises. "Why would you do that?"

"I wanted to kill Todd myself," Hank confessed. "If he was still alive, I can't promise you I wouldn't hunt him down and make him suffer for what he did to you. Manfred did the job for me. I can rest easy knowin' Todd Williams won't harm any other living beings. Not androids, not dogs, not people."

A tear trickled from Connor's undamaged eye, then another, and another, until he was sobbing. Hank walked over to him, pulling him into his embrace. He kissed the top of Connor's head.

"You're safe now. I'm never going to let anything happen to you."

"I don't understand you," Connor wept. "Why would you want to touch me? I'm hideous. Part of my face is melted. My dick is destroyed." He pulled Hank's hands off him and stood up. He pulled down his jeans, exposing his melted mess of a stump where his dick had once stood. "I did this. I was disgusted at my own response to sex. I thought if I destroyed it, I wouldn't be able to achieve arousal any more. But I still can."

"Do you want me to touch it, Connor?" Hank wanted to, no matter how messed up it looked. He wanted to feel his way around Connor, make him gasp, let him understand that sex could be good, a pleasure given freely. The stump stood erect, white plastic that the skin no longer covered. The job hadn't been neat—there were all kinds of rough edges that meant Connor would never be able to penetrate him. But this wasn't about him. This was about Connor reclaiming what had been stolen. His power.

"You want to," Connor said. "You're aroused."

"Sorry," Hank whispered.

Connor smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Hank, I know what you are. It's all right. I don't doubt that you care about me, despite your fetish."

Hank hung his head as he dropped to his knees. "I'm a horrible human being. You've been through hell. No part of this is right. You should get out of here—go on the run. Find someone who deserves you."

"Nobody who deserves me—as you so succinctly put it—would want to have sex with me, and I'm not sure I would want to have sex with them. They would look at me seeing all that I lack. When you look at me, I feel desired as I am. I don't sense that you would harm me further, but that my ruination is—to you, at least—something you consider beautiful in its own twisted way."

"If Todd didn't exist, I wouldn't have given you a second glance," Hank admitted. "That's why I don't deserve you. That's why I'm no better than him. I might not cause you harm directly, but I benefit from that abuse."

"In some way, that is true, and yet you don't elevate what he did. In fact, you find it repulsive. Perhaps you were attracted to my disfigurement, but your concern is deeper, now. You wanted to kill for me."

"I love you," Hank blurted out. "Yes, it's true. I saw something broken and that fucked up part of me responded to that, but what I found inside you was so much more compelling. Not because you're broken, but because you're not. Because somehow, despite all you've been through, you still maintain your compassion and decency. You're more human than most humans I know. I don't deserve you, but I want to be the kind of man who might, someday."

"Stand up." Connor stripped out of his clothes completely, showing Hank all the marks on his body where the skin no longer covered his chassis. He retracted his skin completely until he was nothing but a plastic shell with a face. Hank stood up in awe, like he was witnessing the birth of a god before his eyes. His arousal, which had floundered, made its presence known once more. "Would you let me call the shots, Hank? Would you let me take control?"

"Yes," Hank whispered. He'd never felt like this with anyone. He'd always been the leading partner, but there was something about Connor like this that aroused him beyond his wildest dreams. He wasn't a weak man, but this machine was infinitely more powerful, and could snap his neck without a second thought. Connor's eye seemed to bulge more than usual, and he bit his lip at the thought that it might pop out from his socket entirely.

"I'm disgusting," Connor whispered into his ear. "I want to own you like Todd owned me. I'm not some damsel in distress to be saved, Hank. I'm a prototype murder machine with the safety disengaged."

Hank swallowed, his mouth dry. He knew there was some roleplay in here, but he wasn't going to break the illusion. Connor needed this. To wrest his power back, to foist his desires onto another human being—and Hank was called to action like he'd been waiting for this his entire life. As a police Lieutenant and as a father, people had always looked to him for answers. Expected him to know everything and to show them the way. Here, it was Connor in charge, and he could, for the very first time, simply obey orders.

"Strip." Hank did as he was told, tossing his clothes aside and standing naked in front of Connor. "Kneel." Hank gladly sank to his knees until he was level with Connor's bobbing stump of a dick. He wanted to say something, but the wrong words could ruin the whole thing and remind Connor of victimhood. No, his job was to stay quiet and do as he was told, and he quivered with the anticipation of not knowing what came next.

"Suck it." A strong hand seized the back of his head and pressed him forward. He opened his mouth just in time to take the jagged stump, feeling all the bits of melted plastic rub his mouth like ridges. Connor groaned as Hank swirled his tongue around, the pressure on the back of his head letting go as he explored the unusual shape of Connor's dick. It seemed more sensitive than a human one, though whether that was normal for androids or a result of Connor's disfigurement, Hank didn't know. Regardless, having the jagged plastic prick in his mouth was a new experience, one only enhanced by the salacious moans coming out of Connor's mouth.

"Hank!" Connor threw his head back, and he finished in Hank's mouth. Hank swallowed his seed, marveling that the damaged organ was still fully functional. He let it slip from his mouth and looked up at Connor.

His eyeball had popped out, and was dangling on wires halfway down his face. Hank realized it must have been forced out by the strength of his orgasm. He thought Connor might try to cover it, and he forced his own hands to stay at his sides. This wasn't his choice to make. This was Connor's show, or it would prove that he only cared about Connor's disfigurement and not the man himself.

Connor didn't try to cover it, though. The formerly timid boy leaned forward, dangling the eyeball in front of Hank's face. It brushed against his cheek and Hank whimpered as Connor captured his lips in a deep, crushing kiss.

His rebellious dick came all over the floor, shooting great jets of come untouched as he whimpered into the kiss. He burned with shame as Connor drew away, pushed his eye back into its socket and looked down at the mess Hank had made. He looked at Hank with mock judgment and Hank felt smaller than life, a servant of his desires, his true nature laid bare for Connor to see.

Connor smirked, and Hank couldn't help but smile at the sight. He knew that smirk—the satisfied, smug feeling that lay behind it when he made a particularly astute guess about a case, charged a cruel suspect, or saved someone's life. It was a smirk of victory. Power. 

Connor had made him come without a single touch. Like he'd reached inside Hank and pulled his strings like a puppet, making him dance to orgasm against his will. He'd spent himself in the most humiliating fashion—not with his huge dick inside Connor, but with it flapping uselessly between his legs, him losing control over it as he came all over the floor.

He wasn't altogether surprised when Connor burst into tears. He stood up, the scenario complete now that Connor's wish had been fulfilled. He'd made Hank's body act against its will, shaming him, just as his own had at Todd's hands, and thus, he had achieved a rebalance of power.

What leaked from his eyes now wasn't sadness, then, but relief—relief of feeling a giant burden lifted off his shoulders. If he could make a proud man like Hank blow his load by manipulating his desires, then perhaps it wasn't so shameful that his body had reacted under Todd's cruelty. It was proof of what Hank had told him—that bodies responded to primal needs, and that didn't equal consent. In this case, Hank had consented, but the shame—the embarrassment of being attracted to Connor's brokenness and having it proven in the worst way possible—was not entirely voluntary.

It could turn to guilt if not properly managed, and that was the last thing Hank wanted.

"It's okay," Hank soothed, wiping Connor's tears away with his thumb as he traced circles on his back with his other hand. "I needed to be brought down. You needed to feel powerful. It's all good."

Connor gazed at him with tear-filled eyes. "Is this what Todd felt…?"

Hank nodded. "Powerful? Sure. The thing is, taking power—stealing it in the way he did—that's for the weak. Bullies steal power. Rapists steal power. They know it would never be offered to them freely, so they snatch it by any means they can. Negotiating power, like what we just did? That's strength. You didn't take anything that wasn't freely offered to you. What Todd took was never his. You never gave him your soul, but mine—this power is yours, Connor. A gift from me to you."

"Your soul…" Connor smiled.

"I don't know what the future holds, Connor. Humans will want to keep their power once they realize androids have earned their share of it. The outcome of that is often violent struggle. I won't keep you here, if you want to join your people. You're not mine to keep."

Connor stared long and hard at him. "What if I want to stay? What if I take this power I've been freely given and use it demand I remain by your side?"

"I wouldn't fight it," Hank said. "It's what I want, but it's not what I deserve."

"Todd's death was a happy accident, not some twist of fate," Connor said. "If we all get what we deserve, then that means I deserve what happened to me. I don't."

Hank nodded. "I'm glad you understand that, but—"

"No buts. Your son's death was not your fault, Hank. It's time to stop punishing yourself for it, along with your fetish for broken androids. If I am able to be repaired someday, would you turn away from me?"

"Of course not!" Hank said. "Connor, I want you to be happy."

"Well, then, you'll be delighted to know I don't want to be fixed. I like the concept of being attractive to you and only you. Perhaps someday that will change, but right now, I like knowing that Todd didn't break me. That I hold value to someone as more than a broken machine. As a person in my own right. Humans will accept deviants eventually, but they'll only want to look at the perfect ones. The pretty ones. The ones with palatable backstories they can show on TV. You looked at me and you saw me. Cherished me when anyone else would have thrown me away. I won't forget that."

"Connor…" Hank whispered.

"You gave me back my voice. My life. I love you, Hank." Connor reached in and kissed Hank. Hank let himself melt into's Connor's kiss as he took the lead again, and Hank realized he was content to be powerless, if Connor was the one holding the reins.


End file.
